This is not The End!
by theblondeknight45
Summary: A one-shot story about the last moments between Batman and The Joker at the end of Arkham City. So what would happen if The Joker had a few more minutes of life left in him than in canon? Does he ACTUALLY die? I know, and you can too...if you read it! :P


**So this is just a small one-shot I thought up on the way home on Friday, ha ha. It was a tad different, originally, but I'm more or less happy with how this turned out. **

**This is most definitely not a yaoi story, but...one could interpret it that way, I suppose. I didn't write it that way, but I'm not gonna tell you how to interpret it. To me, the idea of The Joker loving anyone in the conventual sense is true madness, but I think in his own twisted way, he does love Batman. Not romantically or lustfully, though he toys with Batman by once in a while making it seems so. I guess it works a little bit more that way with Harley, but his first and truest love is Batman and the fun he can have with The Dark Knight. **

**As always, I love to see those reviews!**

* * *

><p>Dust flittered down as Batman regained consciousness and swallowed hard. His ears rang and he looked to his arm with hazy eyes and felt the vial with the Titan cure still firm in place. With an effort, he pushed himself off the ground and struggled upwards.<p>

"Quick! The cure!" The Joker cried in panic from the shadows of the Lazarus Pit room.

Batman reached his feet and stood still, silently reflecting on the situation.

"What are you waiting for? C'mon!" Joker continued, "I killed your girlfriend, poisoned Gotham, and _hell_...it's not even breakfast." He broke off to giggle and cough for a second before forcing his voice outwards again, "BUT SO WHAT? We all know you'll save me."

Batman had been staring down at the sacred, blue liquid in the clear and fragile vial in his hand. He clenched it a little harder, tempted to smash it into hundreds of pieces and condemn his worst enemy and living nightmare once and for all, but he resisted.

"Every decision you've ever made ends with death and misery," Batman noted solemnly, gazing into the cure like he was in a daydream and releasing his hold on it, as if to let if fall and shatter instead, "People die. I stop you. You'll just break out and do it again." Batman's grip on the cure slowly came back and he held it tightly once more, unable to let The Joker die.

Joker answered with a short, deep coughing, slowly creeping behind his long time adversary without Batman's knowledge, "Think of it as a running GAG!"

He shanked a knife into Batman's shoulder with a smile, causing the hero to briefly cry out in the shock and sudden pain. He dropped the cure and the vial fell, almost in slow motion, as The Joker watched on, helpless to save it.

It hit the ground and instantly the glass shards scattered on the ground.

"Nooooo!" Joker painfully screamed and was thrown to the side by Batman's superb reflexes. The hero grasped the knife and plucked it out swiftly; the villain anxiously crawled over to try and save himself. He put his face onto the ground and attempted unsuccessfully to sip up the blue medicine that was seeping into the old cracks in the concrete floor. He ingested a little, but it wasn't enough to save him. He knew it all to well, and gave up after a few sips and attempted handfuls of cure.

"Are you happy now?" Joker asked angrily.

He growled lowly as he sat back onto his knees, a scowl on his face and eyes that shone with bitter defeat.

Do you want to know something funny?" Batman asked with his hand on the stab wound to stop the bleeding, "Even after everything you've done...I would have saved you."

Joker, reclined into a sitting position and staring out into the immense darkness before him, processed the information and laughed with a little of the natural albeit sick charisma that he was known for; it was all he could muster.

"That actually is," he paused to cough and hack once more, "pretty funny."

Batman removed his hand to check the wound briefly, then put it back in place, staying quiet as Joker watched the floor again. He seemed to be a man searching for an answer that had eluded him all his life. Maybe he would find it at last, here at the end of all things. Batman didn't quite know if he should, or even could, say anything, so he stayed quietly standing and watching his old nemesis.

Sparks continued to flicker on and off from the background and the same dust flittered down from far above in the old Monarch Theatre. Joker's breathing had become a bit shallower, and he was using his mouth, breathing through clenched teeth and barely open lips, in accordance with his nose.

The moment was etching itself into Batman's mind more and more vividly as he realized that his most dangerous foe, the only man who could have possibly caused him more pain than the man who killed his parents that fateful night, was about to die.

Skin was hanging off the Clown's face, and his body, always skinny and fine, was nearly anorexic and frail. He could see red stains, no doubt blood Joker had gotten onto his shirt somehow. The only things that remained full of life and, more than anything else, ambition, were Joker's eyes. They were defiant in the face of death, but even The Joker could not escape death's long reach, not every time.

"You know…" Joker finally mused aloud, "I had such plans." He stopped to cough and brought his right arm to his mouth as more blood-infused spittle was coughed onto the purple suit.

"I...I had such a grand scheme ahead for Gotham. I could have been a King."

"I would have stopped you either way," Batman replied. Grim and cruel as it was, The Joker deserved nothing less. Even that was too kind a remark, and Batman knew it. So then why did it feel so overly bitter?

Joker's face was staring weakly into Batman's cowl, and it now seemed that the villain was in a daydream.

"You said something like that once before...a long time ago." The confidence brimming in Joker's voice clearly faltered, and a sense of melancholy fell over him as both men thought back to the night as Joker's narration set the stage.

"You remember, don't you? It was," coughing overtook him, "a few months before I killed your side kick…" and again, more fiercely, breaking his smile,"or...perhaps a few months after…"

…

Shadows moved quietly and begrudgingly across the rooftops of Gotham and the full moon was shrouded by the clouds of a cold September night. The abandoned Chemicals Factory rang with two sounds only. Gunshots and wild, erratic laughter.

Two thugs, under Penguin's employ, crept along the railing, peering down into the madness of the war zone below them as Joker's goons battled with their allies.

"Did you find the barrels yet?" One of the thugs questioned, screaming so that the other would hear.

"I can't see jack! We might as well pull out now and cut our losses! I don't want to die here!"

"Penguin will kill us anyways if we return empty-handed!"

"Maybe, but would you rather deal with...that?"

Underneath them, the Joker was walking undeterred into no man's land, strutting around with his iconic gun, dubbed by the worst of Gotham including the Clown himself, the Ace of Spades. One shot was powerful enough to tear right through you, and if you were close by a friend, it might just kill him too. The gun was a perfect analogy for its owner, so deadly just being around it held a serious chance of getting you killed.

Joker didn't seem to notice the bullets at all, or the all consuming noise in the plant either. He took the time to make out the next target, look the man in the eye and spell out his death seconds before it came. No one could touch him, because he didn't want to be touched.

"Good point, let's get out of here!"

"What's in those barrels anyways?"

"I don't know, the city wants to do some testing with them, or maybe outsource them to some medical establishment or research firm, that's about all I know!"

The railing they scampered across was shaken as an explosion occurred near one of the support beams and the entire structure toppled to the side, nearly throwing the men off and into certain doom. Now hanging perilously over the battle, the men ventured forward with their hands, gripping the railing firmly and shuffling towards the ledge a good 12 yards away.

Another explosion knocked the railing around even more and the two fell just before they reached the ledge. Two hands reached out from the shadows and saved them, pulling them up to sanctuary before knocking them out cold.

"Stay out of sight!" Batman commanded.

"I know!" Batgirl replied somewhat hotly and grappled off as Batman found the source of the immense strife.

The Joker had created a wealth of corpses and the remainder of his forces were running through the factory, shooting down anyone not in their ranks. The Clown himself had cornered three men with no more ammunition, and they were all shaking, begging for their lives.

"Step up one and all, there's plenty of death to go around!"

Joker casually walked up to the first of the three, sticking the gun into the goon's face while his comrades watched helplessly from behind.

"I'm a man of fairness. Pick your poison! Bullet, knife? Gas?"

"W-What?" The goon could only shake his head and quiver in fear.

"Fine, I'll pick," Joker reached out and grabbed the man's face, an electric current raging all throughout his body as the villain laughed and enjoyed the splendor of his work.

"Was that an electrifying experience for you too?" Joker mused with a wide smile and stepped over to the next one, who stumbled backwards into his fellow, knocking them both down.

"You there, your face looks a bit empty, let's plug the hole before you lose everything!" Joker took a knife from his sleeve and stuck it into the man's ear as the last goon tried to claw his way out of the corner he'd been pushed to. He pulled down a tarp to reveal several crates, tightly sealed.

They caught Joker's attention and he paused to look at them, going so far as to walk right over the fearful thug and inspect the crates up close.

"You've been a big help," Joker sincerely told the last goon, "I think I know just how to thank you!"

The Ace of Spades was thrust into the man's face and just before Joker could pull the trigger, Batman rocketed down atop him, sending the gun sliding across the floor.

The Caped Crusader threw Joker backwards, onto his back. The hero jumped on top of the criminal mastermind and repeatedly attacked him, showing no mercy or regret, pummeling the Clown until he bled severely.

"Batman!" His ally called from a distance, calming the dark hero down and causing him to stand up and give The Joker a little space.

"You know...you're getting darker and darker every time! When are you finally going to end me?"

"Don't tempt me," Batman retorted, placing his foot atop The Joker's chest and just barely pressing down.

A pained grin flashed on the Clown's face as he asked out of curiosity, "Do you even know what's in those barrels?"

Batman looked over at the crates, an odd logo on each one. A stylized "P" on a pink background. It looked vaguely familiar to him, but he couldn't pull out any names or products.

"Do you realize what I could've done with that? What I'm _going_ to do with that?" He laughed maniacally before Batman's foot pressed down harder.

"So what makes them so valuable?" Batgirl asked from the sidelines, apparently done dealing with the other thugs.

"Go ask Penguin, I'm no squealer!" Joker snapped, then laughed again before Batman lost patience and pulled Joker up, throwing him up against the wall and holding a hand on his throat. Batgirl tensed up for a second, but relaxed when Batman allowed The Joker to breath after a good 30 seconds.

"Those crates-among other things-are the key to dominating Gotham." Joker stated as Batgirl broke one open and investigated the contents.

"Just a few different chemicals. Some rare, some painfully common. Nothing overly special here," She reported.

"We'll see. If I had found them a few minutes sooner-"

"I still would have beaten you." Batman finished.

…

"We used to have such fun," Joker said flatly.

"That plot of yours concerning the Pinkney formula gave me a lot of trouble," Batman replied, almost in a different conversation.

"Like I said," coughing, "fun times!" Joker replied, his smile fully regained, if but for a moment alone.

"..." Batman, again, did not respond to his enemy's conversational topic.

"I'm just disappointed...now who'll try and put a big old smile on that sexy puss?" It seemed that a tear, strained and acidic as it was, fell from Joker's wide eye.

"Maybe I always was smiling? Maybe I never should smile again?" His musing was uncharacteristic, but The Joker actually dying was as well. It was a long night, and it was one of exceptions.

"Maybe...I still want to try though….I-"

"You did all you could to bring me-and this city-down...but you never did."

"No…" Joker replied, clearly crying now, "no I didn't…"

It was almost too much to believe, the sight of Joker weeping. He didn't sniffle or cringe or bury his face in his hands, maybe because he couldn't at this point. He just sat complacently, weakly, and let the tears fall. Batman couldn't find the right words, if there were any, for the moment. So he just stood by and watched, counting the tears. 4. 9. 11. 17.

And then it stopped. It stopped at 17, as though The Joker had literally no more tears to give. He perked up, so to say, and his frown turned less melancholy, and eventually it was no longer a frown, but a stern look. And it was gradually evolving into another smile, a weak, poor smile.

"A lot of people hate me because I never killed you," Batman told his nemesis, changing the subject.

Joker's laugh once more devolved into a wild cough, "Well, they can't say that anymore, can they?"

"I didn't kill you."

"Maybe, but what'll they think? Even now, I win. I," he thrust his hand onto his chest, trying to grab his heart it seemed, and he coughed violently, falling onto his back and letting a blood filled vomit leave his mouth, "...I always...win."

"Maybe you did. Maybe I should have killed you. Maybe I should have ended it that first night and let you fall."

"Level with me, Bats…" Joker spoke as he closed his eyes and laid flat, breathing in with some difficulty, "will you miss me?"

"..."

"Good to know." He tried to laugh, but he couldn't and broke out into a heaving spell.

Gotham would be better off without him, he knew it would. Without this animal, Gotham would find some true peace. There would always be need of a Batman, but without a Joker, Gotham would always be able to breath easier. So why did it sting to let him go? Why _this_ much?

"The game is over," Batman said, seemingly in some reflection of his own, "we're finally finished. No more murdering, no more tricks, no more endless struggle."

"Well...we'll have to take a break...we both know...we'll be doing the same thing over...in hell."

"..."

"Hurry up and die now," Joker bade farewell, "I'll be waiting...on...the other...side…"

A few more pained breaths came, and then nothing. The Joker was dead. It was all over.

Batman crouched down over his foe, eyes shut, body still, cold. Joker seemed lost in a dream, trapped in a deep slumber. Or maybe that was just him.

For all his twisted methods and tortured outlooks on life, The Joker was right in a few areas Batman didn't like to think of, mainly in the idea that The Joker completed Batman. Just as he gave meaning to Gotham's worst nightmare, so too did the Clown give meaning to what the very idea of Batman was and is.

Even more so, that they were grim reflections of the other. The "bad day" story was one of Joker's oldest tales, but the details could be fabricated all he'd like; the truth remained. The Joker had a bad day once...maybe several. That pain that etched itself beyond your emotions and your mind and seeped into the nature of your existence...that pain was enough to drive the most peaceful man into the worst of the world. Maybe The Joker was a peaceful man once. Batman certainly had been. The absolute hardest thing to realize and admit for Batman, though, was that despite his hatred for The Joker, there was a respect there too. Even Batman could not be perfectly stoic in his dark mission against crime and the pursuit of vengeance against evil; even a part of him admired The Joker, at least in his absolute dedication to his craft and his tireless pursuit of his goal, though the goal of anarchy and destruction was not a worthy one.

Perhaps it was that small and shameful respect that sparked the feelings inside. About Arkham City. About the night. About The Joker's passing.

In a token that shocked Batman himself, he knelt down beside the Joker's lifeless body and reflected on the vast history he had with him.

Joker's death count was enormous. The sheer number of innocents he'd killed over the years depressed Batman everytime he thought about it. The people he'd played. The monsters he'd created-some of them literal. The Joker was a disease. A terrible, seemingly permanent disease that forever eclipsed the man inside.

Despite the things the villain had done, if Batman could have saved him, he would have. He pondered that question before, whether or not he would save The Joker, or any nemesis of his from the gaping infection of insanity. He soon realized that if he pulled back his hand and continued to let them drown in madness, then he probably deserved to drown with them.

Yet none of them struck a cord with him like The Joker. The Joker was _his_ enemy. _His_ problem. What ever would he do now that the problem...had been solved?

"See you in hell…" came the somber reply.

…

"Joker! Joker! Joker!" The chants around the entrance of the Monarch Theatre rang out in the aftermath and destruction left by Protocol 10. It had been going on for almost an hour, but who was there to stop the Joker's gang?

"Joker! Joker! Jo-"

The chants died completely when Batman walked out of the Theatre doors, Joker's corpse in his arms. Harley dropped to her knees, eyes wide and sobbing uncontrollably. A lone figure watched from above.

Snow fell like rain as the harsh cold of winter finally set in. The smell of ash and fire polluted the air from the Sionis Steel Mill far off in the distance. It was a castle without a king now.

Anyone who saw Batman walking through the streets dared not go near him. The Joker's gang was left stunned and confused at their leader's death. The promises of domination and unrivaled chaos and destruction had inspired them this far, but with that head gone, they crumbled. None of them knew what to do now that The Joker was gone.

The gates of Arkham slowly opened as the police prepared to enter. They raised their guns at the figure who walked out, but stood down when they realized it was Batman. The vigilante hero walked on.

"My God…" Commissioner Gordon muttered as Batman laid the corpse of Gotham's most devastating evil on the hood of a police car.

"Batman! What the hell happened in there? Batman!"

The Commissioner's cries went unanswered and Batman grappled off into the night without a second look at the monstrocity that was Arkham City.

…

The nasty chirp of bats echoed through the Batcave as Bruce walked painfully up the stairs, into his work area. He removed the cowl and found his chair in front of the Batcomputer first, sitting down and leaning back without a care as Alfred swiftly came to attend to his master.

"I trust you are alright sir?"

Bruce opened his eyes wearily and looked Alfred straight in the eyes, and the butler nodded and left Bruce alone. He reached out to the keyboard and jotted in instructions as the criminal database was pulled up.

He went to the index and brought up The Joker's page.

The smiling man looked back at Bruce as he typed in the new status: "Deceased".

A single tear hit the keyboard and was the only sound that penetrated the immense darkness of the cave.


End file.
